Page 26 of Tempted
Donal was staggering about. Though now conscious, he was still groggy and very much confused about what had taken place at Doon tonight. Tina’s eyes caught sight of her pretty lute smashed to smithereens, and suddenly she was overwhelmed. She picked up the forlorn neck with its dangling strings and broke down in tears. She brushed them away impatiently with unclean hands, smearing dirty rivulets across her cheeks. “Why do they ruin and destroy everything they touch?” whispered Valentina.
“Because they’re men,” explained Ada, ushering her off to bed.
The moment she was alone in her chamber she remembered Old Meg’s tarot cards.
She had met The Emperor, the dark man of authority who sat upon the throne decorated by ram’s heads. She saw the Five of Swords in her mind’s eye. Just as Meg had foretold, he had come with his swords and defeated all. Her mind refused to go further. It was all ridiculous nonsense. Her future could not possibly be affected by some silly pasteboards laid out by an old Gypsy!
Chapter 9
During the following week the Kennedys of Newark, Dunure, and Carrick were raided, along with the Hamiltons of Lanark, Dunbar, and Midlothian. Naturally Black Ram Douglas was the prime suspect, but there were many who doubted that it was possible for one man to hit so many far-flung castles within the same week.
Ramsay Douglas had decided to join in the game and to teach the other players how to go about the thing with a vengeance. When he hit, he hit hard, and he hit where he knew it would stir up a stink as foul as a cesspool. At each of the Kennedy holdings he left cattle that belonged to the Hamiltons, and likewise he deposited the famous Kennedy sheep upon Hamilton property.
The Kennedys of Doon, however, were not touched, and it was a week before they realized their herds were mysteriously multiplying. The head of the Kennedy clan, Archibald, Earl of Cassillis, was renowned for owning the finest horseflesh in Scotland. Some he bred, others he imported from Ireland, Flanders, Spain, and Morocco. He supplied the royal stables, both at Stirling and Edinburgh, with the very best. Ram Douglas, with his brothers Gavin and Cameron, lifted every horse at Cassillis. It was a major undertaking that required planning, cunning, nerve, and speed. The brothers relayed the horses to their Douglas cousins, Ian, Drummond, and Jamie, who in turn passed them on to Douglas moss-troopers, who planted them in the stables of both the Kennedys and the Hamiltons.
There was one particular mare, however, with which Black Ram Douglas could not bear to part. He had been looking for a worthy dam for Ruffian’s offspring, and the moment he saw the glossy filly, he knew he had found her.
She was tall for a female, with extremely long legs. Her neck also was long and graceful, yet her chest was deep, and he knew instinctively she would prove to have long wind. In the dark she had looked black, but when he examined her more carefully back at Douglas, he saw she was an unbelievable shade of purple damson. Just by looking at her, he could tell her bloodlines were royal and that she was part Barbary or Arabian. Her face was exotic, with large eyes, and if he wasn’t mistaken, she had been bred with one less vertebra, so that her tail went up high at the least excitement.
He tucked her away in a small meadow at Douglas with one of his most trusted herdsman-tenants. Then Ramsay’s perverse humor prompted him to further mischief. It was no secret that the wealthy Kennedys of Doon were thick as thieves with the Campbells of Argyll and that the clans would soon be united in marriage. This was clearly a power-move by the ruthless Argyll. The Campbells already held and ruled the Northwest, and the Kennedy alliance proved their greedy eyes had turned south.
Douglas knew the Campbells had culled about sixty young bulls from their famous herds of shaggy, short-legged Highland cattle with their great spread of horn and had brought them to the spring cattle auction in Glasgow. Lifting the cattle was child’s play for the Douglas reivers; the tricky part was depositing them on Donal Kennedy’s doorstep without being observed. Black Ram Douglas’s men used the ancient border trick for sneaking undetected upon a castle they covered themselves with cowhides.
By the time the violet fingers of dawn turned the sky an ominous dull pink, panic had set in at Doon. How in the name of all that was holy were the Kennedy brothers to explain their possession of hundreds of cattle and sheep that belonged to their neighbors, to say nothing of their Kennedy chief’s horses and Argyll’s prize bulls?
The scene at Douglas was as different as chalk from cheese. Though the promised storm was gathering by late afternoon, a holiday atmosphere prevailed. By way of celebration for a most successful and satisfying week, the Douglases had invited the Gypsies to their castle to entertain them till dawn.
With his wolfhound at his heels, Ramsay Douglas cantered Ruffian out to the meadow where he had hidden the beautiful new mare. When they came within half a mile, the stallion’s nostrils began to quiver as he scented the female he would serve. Ram had not used him on the raids because a horse that stood nineteen hands high was instantly recognized. As a result, he was difficult and mettlesome. Ram removed his bridle, then sent him thundering into the meadow with a slap across his rump. He secured the tall gate and stood for a few minutes watching the biplay of the two magnificent animals. “Tonight every Douglas celebrates,” he called into the wind. “Wear off some o’ that energy that makes ye so damned bad-tempered.” He laughed as the mare kicked up her heels and raced about the meadow as if the demon of darkness were after her. Ruffian took up the relentless pursuit, teeth bared and eyes rolling. “I think ye’ve met yer match. By morning, she’ll have ye quivering on yer legs, man.”
By the time Ram and Boozer walked back to the castle, the Gypsies were setting up their wares in the bailey. The great wolfhound scattered a troupe of trained miniature dogs, then started nipping at the heels of their Welsh ponies until all was pandemonium. With a quiet word Ram brought the wolfhound back to his side and took him upstairs to his chamber. While he bathed and changed into doeskin breeches and linen shirt, the dog rolled on his back in a disgraceful display of love and affection. Ram ruffled the shaggy pewter head. “Yer a fraud Ye think yer quite a perilous character, and ye expect me tae keep yer secret.” The great wolfhound was such a contradiction. Capable of tearing the throat from a man, a soft word from Ram turned him to jelly. “Don’t worry—I’ll keep yer reputation intact,” he promised as he reflected whimsically on whether the dog had taken on his own personality. He’d never know, for there was none to give him a soft word
The Gypsies set up their wares on colored blankets both outside in the bailey and in the great hall. They sold and bartered everything from tawdry paper flowers to knives of finest Toledo steel. They had the knack of being vivid, dramatic, and exotic, and their displays cleverly appealed to all tastes and all ages.
The children were attracted by the straw dolls and tin whistles, the women by the ribbons, beads, and love potions, the men by the leather belts, knives, and luck charms set into amulets. Their love of life and zest for living were infectious. They made their own music with fiddle, tambourine, and lute, which fired the blood and inspired both men and women to set their feet to dancing. Whenever the Gypsies entertained, it was guaranteed the very air would be charged with excitement and laughter.
Ramsay sent the servants scurrying to the cellar for barrels of ale and kegs of whisky, sniffing the air with appreciation. “Kennedy lamb and Hamilton beef smell better than our own when spitted and roasting,” he told a grinning Gavin. “Let’s bring down old Malcolm,” Ram suggested.
“The mad laird?” asked Colin with disapproval. “He’s better off in bed.”
“The hell he is!” disagreed Ram. “He’s condemned tae that bed fer the rest of his life now his legs are gone. Gavin man, fetch that chair we fixed wheels on last year, an’ I’ll carry him down.”
“‘Tis not just his legs are gone—he’s a ravin’ lunatic. ‘Twould no’ be kind.”
Ram understood how sensitive Colin was because of his own affliction, but he overruled him. “‘Twould no’ be kind tae exclude him like a bloody leper!”
“He won’t thank ye. He never had a kind word for anybody in his life, even before he went off it,” said Cameron.
“He takes his pleasure by cursing everything and everybody, but I know for a fact he wouldna be a Douglas if he didna enjoy the whisky and the Gypsy dancers. Maybe I’ll buy one of the wenches fer his bed tonight,” said Ram.
“Maybe ye’ll buy one fer the cripple while yer at it,” flared Colin. “We all know Black Ram Douglas never had tae pay fer a woman in his life,” he sneered.
Gavin arrived with the old wooden chair. “What the hell’s burnin yer arse?” he asked Colin.
“Flames about this high,” taunted Cameron, holding his hand a scant two feet from the floor.
Colin relented. “I suppose I felt sorry fer myself all week, missin’ the sport.”
Ram thumped his shoulder. “There’s nothing tae stop ye tonight, man. There’s everything from a cockfight tae a knife-throwing contest. Ian, ride down tae Douglas village and tell everyone they’re invited—not just the lasses, mind. Drummond, tell all the kitchen wenches they can have the night off. I’ll go and fetch Mad Malcolm from his tower room.”
